


Don't Lose My Number

by schweet_heart



Series: Merlin Fic [206]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Arthur Pendragon Returns (Merlin), Banter, Crack, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25504783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schweet_heart/pseuds/schweet_heart
Summary: “Merlin,” comes Arthur’s voice when he picks up the phone, “the Micro Wave is beeping again.”
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Merlin Fic [206]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/70688
Comments: 49
Kudos: 474





	Don't Lose My Number

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> For Gimli_s_Pickaxe, with thanks :) 
> 
> Please do not repost elsewhere or list my fic on Goodreads (or any other similar spaces).

“Merlin,” comes Arthur’s voice when he picks up the phone, “the Micro Wave is beeping again.”

Merlin sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. One thousand, five hundred and twenty-six years, three months, and a handful of days, and somehow he is still the one Arthur calls on to gratify his every whim, despite the fact that Merlin has made it very clear he’s no longer a servant. It’s almost enough to make him wish Arthur had stayed in the lake a while longer, if only so that he could get through one more blasted day at work without a dozen pointless phone calls.

All right, it’s not even close to making him wish for _that_ , but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying.

“Arthur,” he says. “We’ve talked about this.”

In fact, Merlin has discussed at length the few things it is appropriate for Arthur to call him about while he’s at the office: if something is on fire (they have made it 16 days so far without any toaster-related incidents, for which Merlin is very grateful), if Arthur is sick or injured (so far, he’s been neither, thank the gods), or if something happens that suggests Morgana might have turned up and he needs Merlin there to protect him. Arthur had protested a great deal about this latter. 

“The Micro Wave is beeping,” Arthur repeats, ignoring Merlin’s complaint. “Honestly, I don’t know why you keep that thing around—half the time it doesn’t warm anything up properly, and the other half it makes everything too hot. It’s a worse servant than you are.” 

“That’s because I’m not a servant,” Merlin says, powering down his laptop and stowing it in his bag. He’s lucky that his employer _likes_ it when he works from home. “And neither is the microwave. It’s just a machine, Arthur, it’s not going to hurt you.”

“I know _that_.” Arthur sounds offended. “But the noise is annoying, and I’ve been trying to read that book you gave me on the Tudors but I can’t concentrate with it interrupting me all the time. I need you to make it shut up.” 

“Did you try turning it off and unplugging it from the wall, like I told you to last time?” 

Silence on the other end of the line. Merlin chucks his phone charger in his bag and zips it up, hooking the backpack over his shoulder. He nods to Lane, his co-worker, on his way out, and she smiles and waves, indicating that she will speak to their boss for him after he’s gone. For some reason, Lane thinks it’s cute that Merlin still rushes home to save Arthur from imaginary monsters every other day. Even though it really, really isn’t. 

“Arthur? Did the microwave eat you?” 

“Just hurry up and get here,” Arthur says brusquely, and the call cuts out.

Sighing again, Merlin tucks the phone into his pocket and steps into the lift. What Arthur won’t say, because you can take the man out of the 5th century but you can’t take the 5th century out of the man, is that he’s developed something of a phobia of electricity during his time in the modern world. As in, he hates it, does not understand it, and is quite possibly convinced that it will turn on them and kill them all one of these days. Nothing Merlin has said or done has so far been able to disabuse him of this notion, and sometimes Merlin wonders if he’s doing it on purpose, just because he needs _something_ to fight in this strange modern world. 

“Clotpole,” Merlin mutters, jabbing the button to make the lift doors close. Really, it’s so very _typical_.

Miracle of miracles, his train is actually on time for once, and it doesn’t take long before he’s stepping out of the elevator in their building to find Arthur waiting for him outside their door. He knows Arthur can’t have locked himself out (they’d solved that problem the fifth time it had happened by spelling the door so that he could always enter), which means he must be standing there waiting for Merlin, as if he hadn’t been entirely sure he would show up. 

Despite the pique that he’s been nursing all the way home, Merlin’s heart softens. He knows, without being able to say how he knows, that the reason Arthur keeps calling him home to deal with such aggravating trifles is the same reason that Merlin keeps answering him. One thousand, five hundred and twenty-six years is a long time to be alone, and if the modern world feels terrifying and huge and out of control sometimes to _Merlin_ , who has watched it all unfold, how much more so must it seem to Arthur? 

“One of these days, I really am going to block your number,” he says, when Arthur finally deigns to release him from his embrace. “Or throw out every appliance I own and buy you a cabin in the woods somewhere, where you can rusticate to your heart’s content.” 

“That sounds nice,” Arthur says. “Did I ever tell you I used to dream about running away to become a farmer? It always seemed like such a simple life.” 

Merlin thinks about Arthur on a farm: Arthur trying to milk the cows; Arthur shovelling dung and hauling pig slops; Arthur and _chickens_ —and decides he’d much rather deal with the microwave. 

“I think,” he says, gently extricating himself from Arthur’s arms, “that you and Marie Antoinette would have had a lot in common.” 

“I don’t know who that is,” Arthur says, following him inside. The microwave is suspiciously silent when Merlin gets to the kitchen, the little green numbers blinking up at him with automated innocence. “But I have a feeling that I’ve just been insulted.” 

“A brilliant deduction, sire.” He tugs Arthur towards him by the front of his shirt and kisses him again, because what _else_ is he supposed to do, now that he’s here? “I’ll tell you all about her once you’re done with the Tudors.” 

“And after you’ve fixed the Micro Wave,” Arthur says, just as the thing gives a truly heinous-sounding beep behind him.

“After I’ve fixed the microwave,” Merlin agrees, and sets about turning it off and then on again. Some things are too big, too deep, too much for him to fix right now—but this, at least, is something he can do.


End file.
